


The Scars on Your Soul

by ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, No hard feelings Mingming, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 11:17:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20007430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass/pseuds/ThreeKnivesInAWineGlass
Summary: The mark on Jeonghan’s shoulder is hidden beneath three layers of fabric but he doesn’t need to compare it to know that Cute Café Boy’s doesn’t match, that Cute Café Boy isn’tmeantto be his. No, that person is buried six feet under the ground, and has been for years.





	The Scars on Your Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters I write about are inferred from public personas but should not be taken as accurate portrayals of their real world counterparts. Some fans have a hard time separating fantasy and reality, so before you read my story, I implore you to recognize these as characters, not celebrities. Please don’t project what you read in stories onto real people. Please respect real people.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy my fic.

Autumn is great. When it’s so cold that every exhale hangs visible in the air, long sleeves, and even multiple layers, are everyone’s best friend, and Jeonghan is no exception. He knows people who complain about having to bundle up, many of them being the same people who joke and call Jeonghan a lizardman because he’s always so cold.

Soonyoung can call him whatever he wants though because Jeonghan knows he has kindred spirits, like Cute Café Boy. Since practically the first day of autumn, every time Jeonghan stops in his favorite dual flowers-and-coffee place, Cute Café Boy has been wearing sweaters. And really cute sweaters, too - they match Cute Café Boy’s nose very nicely.

It baffles Jeonghan how, in all the months he’s been coming here, he has yet to interact with Cute Café Boy. He somehow always winds up with Seungcheol or Chan at the counter when he orders his hot chocolate or buys his bouquet of flowers. For Pete’s sake, he knows the names of the other two employees but not Cute Café Boy, never having a chance to even glance his nametag. It’s almost as if the universe is conspiring to keep that information away from Jeonghan.

And maybe it is. After all, they aren’t soulmates.

The mark on Jeonghan’s shoulder is hidden beneath three layers of fabric but he doesn’t need to compare it to know that Cute Café Boy’s doesn’t match, that Cute Café Boy isn’t _meant_ to be his. No, that person is buried six feet under the ground, and has been for years.

The recurring thought acts as a period in tandem with his empty mug, signalling the end of Jeonghan’s time in the café, so he stands from his seat at the window and walks up to the counter. The flower case isn’t as full as it was in the warmer months, but luck seems to be on Jeonghan’s side as there’s still an arrangements worth of pink roses for him to grab.

Setting the bouquet on the counter, Jeonghan expects Seungcheol to ring him up, since he saw Chan in the corner when he stood, but it’s not Seungcheol who moves to face him. Separated from Jeonghan by only a rustic wooden table, Cute Café Boy is staring at him.

“Is this everything?” he asks, and Jeonghan dumbly nods. He’s never heard Cute Café Boy’s voice before, at least not clearly, not able to definitively say it was his. It’s beautiful.

As he counts the flowers, running his fingers over the stems, reality slams into Jeonghan and his eyes dart to Cute Café Boy’s apron, suddenly aware that this is his chance to learn his name. And wow, as Jeonghan reads the letters strung together, he thinks the name they spell is just as beautiful as his voice.

_Minghao._

Minghao’s lips move as he finishes counting the roses, muttering words Jeonghan can’t hear, and Jeonghan almost thinks he’s actually gone deaf in shock until Minghao says, “Twenty-five roses comes to twenty-five dollars.” Then, when Jeonghan hands him the money, he smiles and says, “Thank you.”

It’s a beautiful smile. Everything about Minghao is beautiful. Why did Jeonghan ever think he was cute? If he saw that same, almost shy, smile on Mingyu, Jeonghan would certainly think it was adorable, but on Minghao it’s- Well, it’s breathtaking.

They exchange pleasantries, them both saying “Have a nice day” simultaneously, resulting in Jeonghan awkwardly lifting his hand in a parting gesture before he slowly makes his way out onto the street. As he walks to his car, Jeonghan thinks luck truly is on his side today.

* * *

The sun is unbearably bright as Jeonghan weaves through the cemetery, forcing him to squint and even close his eyes every now and then. He doesn’t exactly need to see to get to his destination, though; he wonders if he should consider that a fortunate thing or not.

“You’re early,” Junhui calls once Jeonghan isn’t too far, surely not wanting to actually raise his voice out of respect for any other visitors.

Coming to stand in front of the grave marker where Junhui is crouching, Jeonghan mutters, “Traffic was light.” He crouches down himself, then, and rests the pink roses in his hand beside the purple hyacinths that Junhui must have laid to rest just before his arrival.

Neither of them say anything for a long moment. Maybe this is one of the visits where they don’t say anything at all. Sitting in front of Mingming’s grave, Jeonghan doesn’t think there’s anything to say, not anything that hasn’t already been said before, at least. The grievances are over for most of Junhui’s family, but the two of them, and the two of them alone, it would seem, remain stuck.

The stagnant nature of this ritual is crushing to Jeonghan, but Junhui must revel in it, as he angles his head slightly so he’s not quite looking at Jeonghan, decides that this is one of the visits where they do talk, and says, ”I still don’t understand why you keep coming. You didn’t know him.”

“He was my soulmate,” Jeonghan says simply. He can’t walk away, he can’t stop coming, he can’t move on from the person who bore the same mark as him. They were bound to each other, and since he didn’t get to honor that while Mingming was alive, he has to honor it now. These are the words he deliberately leaves unspoken but that he’s sure Junhui hears all the same.

Junhui’s hand finds Jeonghan’s, his fingers slotting themselves into the gaps that Jeonghan easily makes for them. “He was an addict, Jeonghan. He didn’t try to be better for his own sake, let alone for the idea of meeting and having you some day.”

“Then why do you still come? Why do you leave flowers if he was so terrible?” Jeonghan asks. He forces out his voice calmly, level, even though he wants to be angry. He wants to pull away from Junhui, but more than that he wants to hold Junhui’s hand tighter, so he does. He squeezes Junhui’s hand until it must be painful, and Junhui lets him.

“Did you know purple hyacinths mean seeking forgiveness?” Junhui asks. Jeonghan shakes his head - he knows Junhui is looking at him, sees the movement. There’s a pause, Junhui seemingly thinking over his words, before he continues, “It’s meant to be the other way around, isn’t it? He should have to apologize for leaving me behind, missing birthdays and graduations, yet here I am trying to single-handedly fix a bridge that burned a long time ago.”

Jeonghan slowly turns to face Junhui, only to find him staring at the gravestone. He swallows - it’s difficult around the lump in his throat, but he manages - and asks, “Why?”

Another moment, Junhui returning the pressure against Jeonghan’s palm. “Because he was my brother. He ran out on me but I gave up on him; we abandoned each other, just in different ways. He was my brother, so I owe it to him to heal, to forgive, for both of us.”

The words Junhui doesn’t say play out in Jeonghan’s head as clearly as if Junhui forced him to hear them said aloud.

You owe him nothing.

Jeonghan is grateful Junhui doesn’t say them. He wouldn’t have a response if Junhui did.

**Author's Note:**

> Art exists to be witnessed.
> 
> If you’re so inclined after reading my fic, comments are always appreciated, especially if you have thoughts, feelings, or questions about the story. Regardless of whether it’s long or short, comments let me know that my work was engaged with, which, as a writer, is all I hope for those reading my fic to do.


End file.
